Chhatrasal tells a tale of resilience
Sehrawat, national 57kg champ and challenger to Tokyo star Ravi Dahiya, says how the sport helped him overcome the tragic loss of parents
NEW DELHI: The metal door opens with a sinister creak and shuts with a definitive thud, shutting out the rumble of the outside world. The sharp odour of sweat fills the air.
Four Olympic-sized wrestling mats cover what used to be an underground parking lot, and standing below the AC vents and fire sprinklers, chief coach Parveen Singh Dahiya scans a group of over 50 teenage boys. This is where it all begins at Delhi’s Chhatrasal Stadium, aptly, at the very bottom.
Coach Dahiya is in love with the place. Seven days a week, his alarm goes up at 4am and the process to chisel raw talent begins. Warm-ups, bodyweight training, sparring, technical sessions. Gradually, the punishing schedule becomes a way of life for young dreamers like Aman Sehrawat.
A two-time World Cadet Championship bronze medallist (2018, 2019), a Cadet Asian gold medallist (2019), and the current national champion in the 57kg weight class, there’s nothing overtly unique about the 18-year-old, except maybe his sculpted anterior deltoids. He talks in slow monosyllables, rarely looks in the eye, and doesn’t read too much in his early success. Put him on the mat though, and something flips.
Coach Dahiya signals a heavier trainee to get ready, and within minutes, Sehrawat is ready to put up an exhibition.
“Kalajung!” shouts Dahiya, and Sehrawat obliges. Also known as fireman’s throw, this move involves the wrestler getting hold of the opponent’s thigh and using the upper body strength to toss him/her.
At the Wrestling Nationals in Gonda recently, Sehrawat barely broke a sweat to romp to his first seniors gold.
It guarantees him a ticket to Pretoria, South Africa, for the Commonwealth Championships early next month where he will make his international debut in the senior category. His wrestling journey has barely begun, but it has already been a long and hard road for Sehrawat to get to where he is now.
Sehrawat’s roots
Birohar is a nondescript village in Haryana’s Jhajjar district—a wrestling nursery within the wrestling nursery that’s Haryana. Unlike Jhajjar’s Khuddan village that jumped to national consciousness with the rise of Bajrang Punia, Birohar is yet to find its own star. The village gets no more than eight hours of electricity in the day, and there’s no potable water supply. The canal water that locals have access to is too salty, so they go to tube wells some 500 metres away to get their drinking water.
Sehrawat was born here in 2003. His father, Somveer, grew wheat on the family farm while mother Kamlesh ran the house. The year Sehrawat turned ten, Kamlesh fell seriously ill.
“She had asthma. She really loved their cow, and when the cow died, she slipped into some kind of depression,” said Sudhir, Sehrawat’s uncle. Kamlesh’s asthma and mental health deteriorated rapidly, and one day, she was found hanging in the house.
The passing away of Kamlesh pushed Somveer in a dark corner, and he took recourse in drugs. “Somveer damaged his lungs beyond repair. But one good thing that he did was he took Aman to Chhatrasal Stadium,” said Sudhir, who raised Sehrawat and his younger sister, Puja.
A year rolled by before Sehrawat’s life turned again. Once, during practice, he sprained his knee and was advised rest. Sehrawat thought of paying a quick visit to his family and left for home.
As he approached his house, Sehrawat noticed the usually quiet surroundings buzzing with people. Before he could make sense of the commotion, he saw his father’s corpse, being readied for cremation.
“I didn’t know what had happened. I mean, how does one react to such a situation? Beyond grief, I was in shock,” he said. “It was a strange co-incidence—me getting injured and deciding to go home the same day my father died.”
Again, it was the wrestler’s life in Chhatrasal that came to Sehrawat’s rescue. In the unrelenting discipline and rhythm of his training, and the companionship of his fellow trainees, Sehrawat says he “found a family” in Chhatrasal. “I never felt I had no one to talk to or celebrate my success with, thanks to these people”, said Sehrawat.
Idol and competitor
I can beat him (Ravi Dahiya). He is very good and carries a reputation, but we at Chhatrasal don’t look at each other that way. We start a bout as equals. AMAN SEHRAWAT, national wrestling champion (57kg)
The three-hour training session has ended and the young wrestlers are resting their punished bodies. From the backdoor, emerges the sculpted frame of Ravi Dahiya.
Wide-eyed trainees scramble to touch his feet, and Dahiya, clearly enjoying his stardom, nonchalantly walks on.
Sehrawat watches from afar. He is prodded whether he can beat Dahiya. “Of course. I wouldn’t be wrestling if I didn’t believe I could.”
Dahiya and Sehrawat compete in the same Olympic weight class (57kg), and with latter’s Nationals gold, a showdown between the two at some stage is imminent.
The two have not played a full-scale bout yet, but they have had a few informal sparring sessions, referred to as ‘zor’ in wrestling lexicon. Sehrawat claims to have gauged Dahiya enough.
“I can beat him. He is very good and carries a reputation, but we at Chhatrasal don’t look at each other that way. We start a bout as equals,” he said.
Coach Dahiya reckons Sehrawat will be ready to challenge the world’s best by 2028. “I can guarantee a medal from Aman at the 2026 Commonwealth Games and Asiad. Also, he will medal at the 2028 Olympics,” he declares.
Sehrawat’s personal goals though are more ambitious. He wants to bid for next year’s CWG and Asiad, and if that involves beating the Olympic silver medallist, so be it.
When Ravi Dahiya returned from Tokyo, a rare off day was announced at Chhatrasal. Outdoor catering was arranged, the mess rules were relaxed, and a DJ belted out Punjabi and Haryanvi music. Sehrawat was among the herd of wrestlers who danced to Dahiya’s success. Then, Dahiya climbed the mini stage and held his silver medal atop in a rousing statement of what talent and toil could achieve. The medal was passed along in the crowd for young hopefuls to see it up close. Only one wrestler chose not to look at it.
“I want to hold my own Olympic medal first,” Sehrawat said.